Her fondest memory
by Weregonnafixthistogether
Summary: She was tired, bloody tired. She couldn't take it anymore. She was used to working under pressure, but that time of year was always more complicated than others.


**Her fondest memory**

She was tired, bloody tired.

She couldn't take it anymore. She was used to working under pressure, but that time of year was always more complicated than others.

_"Simmons, the results."._

_"Simmons, the serum."._

_"Simmons, analyse the wounds". _

_"Simmons, here"._

_"Simmons, there"._

She wanted to scream, to close herself in her bunk and sleep for days.

She had managed to carve out a five-minute break from her job and was going to spend it sitting on the small couch with a cup of tea in her hands.

But destiny was against her.

As soon as she sat on the cushions, May approached her, stopping in front of the table.

Jemma closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

"We're going to land," said the specialized agent. "We need results as soon as possible".

"The samples are in analysis. The results will be ready in about half an hour", she replied calmly albeit nervous.

"We don't have all this time", May said again.

"But we need it", replied the biochem, standing up to put her cup in the washbasin.

Say goodbye to the five minute break.

"We have fifteen minutes. Not one minute more, not one less".

Simmons took a deep breath.

She had to stay calm.

She turned and spoke, weighing her words carefully.

"Agent May," she began. "Unfortunately, the analyses are long, there is a risk that the results will not be accurate, if we force the machine to restrict the times of work.

Fifteen minutes are enough for a superficial manual analysis, certainly not an in-depth", she finished coming out of the kitchenette.

"Well, what are you waiting for, then? Go down to the laboratory to perform these manual tests", ordered May.

They were all nervous and tired.

She wasn't supposed to pay attention to the tones of the voice that were used under certain circumstances.

She knew that they were not voluntary.

But that day, just that very day, she couldn't not give weight to the words.

Without answering, she turned around and walked toward the door to the spiral staircase for the lower floor.

"Simmons", called again May. "The folder".

She had forgotten the folder on the couch.

She went back to reach again the agent who was handing her the object.

Without saying anything Jemma took it.

"Simmons, you can't afford any distractions", said May before the biochem left the room.

Jemma spun around. She couldn't hold it in any longer.

She made quick and fast steps as she came over to Melinda.

She pointed a finger at her.

"What do you think I'm doing?", she yelled at her. "I'm working day and night without stopping, looking for a stupid solution that is under my nose but I can't find. Do you think this is easy? Do you think I don't feel frustrated by this thing? That I'm not in any way trying to fix this?" she finished panting.

May hadn't moved, she had remained impassive, listening to the biochem's little outburst.

"Get back to work", she said just before returning to the cockpit.

Jemma screamed internally and retraced her steps, slamming the iron door behind her.

Perhaps she had just been a bit abrupt, but at that moment she couldn't hold herself. She had, in somehow, had to somehow free herself and the words were her only way to pour put her feelings.

As time passed she also felt a bit guilty. She had managed to partially terminate the analysis in the required time and she had discovered something that could have brought her a step forward with her research.

She would have to apologize to May.

And she would.

Jemma entered in the cockpit.

She wrung her hands before speaking.

She sat down in the empty seat, asking permission.

But there was no answer.

"May", she began. "I wanted to apologize for today".

She paused, hoping for a response from the agent.

"I didn't want to to yell at you", she said. "It's just that today is a strange day", she concluded.

Silence fell on that place.

With one eye, Simmons looked at Melinda.

She hoped for a reaction, a word, but she already knew that this thing that was not May's style.

But Jemma needed to talk and that woman gave her security.

"Today is the anniversary of my brother's death", she said, whispering. "Every year comes back to my mind one of the fondest memories I have of him. And it hurts".

She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them.

"We stayed up late one summer night a few years back, chatting and enjoying a glass of soda. It was my last night in England. I was flying back to New York the next morning. Everyone was already in bed...just the two of us awake, laughing and whispering so not to wake anyone. We tried to savour every last minute, not being able to say goodnight because we knew i it was going to be a long time before we would see each other again. Turns out it would be the last time we would see each other.

It was a warm summer night. The air was heavy and suddenly it started raining. Puddle jumping at two in the morning seemed a perfectly insane thing to do... so, we did! No cars on the street... just he and I, barefoot, being kids again, jumping and stomping in every puddle in the soft, warm summer rain. We were 17 and 15 years old at the time.

I miss him so much".

Her voice broke at the end of the sentence.

"It's not an excuse," said Jemma, still recovering control.

But she wanted to make it clear to May that she was not the girl who yelled at people. She only had the need, for only one day a year, to get a moment alone with herself.

To think of her brother, without any pressure.

Talking in a loud voice had awakened her deepest feelings.

She had never told anyone this story, even Fitz. Of course, he knew what had happened to her brother, he knew that they were together that night, but didn't know what they had done.

She was not sure why she had confessed this thing to May. A small part of her hoped that the woman could somehow comfort her.

She ran the palm of her hand under her eye, to erase the traces of the tears that wanted to come out forcefully.

She lowered her legs and stood up.

Despite not uttering a word, Jemma hoped that May had forgiven her for that outburst.

She opened the door.

"Simmons", called the pilot, blocking the biochem that was about to leave.

"It's all right", she said not turning away from the controls.

Jemma turned to her, smiled slightly and left.

In her own way, May had forgiven her.


End file.
